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<title>Spices and Cold Smiles by devilinthedetails</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919950">Spices and Cold Smiles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails'>devilinthedetails</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Free Spirit [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cultural Differences and Divides, F/M, Maren - Freeform, Political Marriage, Politics, Spice, Unhappy marriage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:40:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lianne eats the spices of Maren and remembers the spices of Tortall.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alan of Pirate's Swoop/Lianne II of Conté, Lianne II of Conte/OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Free Spirit [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spices and Cold Smiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spices and Cold Smiles</p>
<p>At her first Midwinter feast in Maren, Lianne bit into a piece of lamb chop marinated in a medley of strong spices. The taste of cumin, paprika, and sumac was so powerful that it lingered in her throat and her nostrils after she swallowed. She coughed to clear her throat and her nostrils, concealing the noise behind an uplifted cloth napkin. </p>
<p>Her husband, however, did not miss the cough. </p>
<p>“Is the spice overwhelming you?” Prince Rurik smiled at her, but the smile was a cold one that didn’t warm his frost-hard hazel eyes. It felt as if he had been cold to her ever since they had married. </p>
<p>Lianne didn’t know whether that was because he had been been wearing a pleasant, warm mask when they had first met in Tortall and he’d escorted her around Corus, or if it was because he had realized that she could never truly love him and had become determined to lock his heart from her upon discovering that he couldn’t melt hers. She couldn’t figure out who to blame for their misery—who had misled and lied to whom. All she knew was that neither had found anything approaching love or a happily ever after in their awkward arranged marriage regardless of any noble intentions they might’ve had when they exchanged their silver-tongued vows and gold-encrusted rings. All that bound them together now seemed to be bitterness and fear of a diplomatic disaster between their two native lands. </p>
<p>“It’s only stronger than I expected.” Lianne sipped at a warm winter beverage containing milk, crushed orchid root, and the familiar seasoning of cinnamon. She had never tasted such a drink before coming to Maren but had found it soothing from the first time she swallowed it. The taste and the smell of cinnamon in a warm drink reminded her of Tortall and the family of her birth. She felt at home in her spirit whenever she sipped it. </p>
<p>“Yes.” The curl of her husband’s smile could best be described as condescending and contemptuous now, Lianne noted. “I forgot that the Tortallans are unaccustomed to spice and have no notion how to handle it.” </p>
<p>“We are accustomed to spice.” Lianne remembered all the spices of the Midwinter holiday in Corus. The hot cider and wine mulled with cinnamon and cloves imported from Jindazhen. The sharp tang of ginger and nutmeg from the Copper Isles baked into bread that was then built into cottages or shaped into men. The spices that to her meant winter. "We are just accustomed to different spices.”</p>
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